


Lasagna is the food of love

by sweaters_in_the_summer



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, whats the deal with lasagna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaters_in_the_summer/pseuds/sweaters_in_the_summer
Summary: “David, can I ask you something?” Patrick used his fork to scrape up some bits of melted cheese that were stuck to his plate.David nodded, unconcerned. “What’s up?”“I’m just curious, but why do you keep making lasagna?” He tilted his head to the side, to show David this was a very low-stakes question.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 33
Kudos: 173





	Lasagna is the food of love

**Author's Note:**

> AKA how many times can I say lasagna in 1000 words?
> 
> What's the deal with lasagna? As far as I can tell, it's only been mentioned once in the whole series, but it seems like anytime food is mentioned in a fic, it's lasagna.
> 
> I'm not complaining - thanks to this fandom, I've had more lasagna in the past few months than in my entire four decades prior to falling in love with Schitt's Creek. But it is curious.
> 
> And now I'm craving lasagna again.

Patrick looked down at his dinner plate and sighed.

He was _thrilled_ that David had taken on a bigger share of the cooking.

He was _thrilled_ that he had moved on from enchiladas (there were a _lot_ of enchiladas for a while. A _lot_ of bragging about cheese-folding proficiency.) But why lasagna again? Patrick didn’t have the heart to tell his husband that he really didn't like lasagna. But for some reason, David made lasagna. A lot. 

The first time was a month or so after they’d moved into the cottage. It was your standard, run-of-the-mill lasagna. It was fine. It had noodles. It had sauce. It had meat and cheese. But the affectionate look on David’s face as he presented it to Patrick was enough to make him want to melt into a puddle of goo (which just made him think of the middle of lasagna, and not in a good way.) So he ate the lasagna, complimented David on his nascent cooking skills, and put the meal out of his mind.

Until a few weeks passed, and again, David set a volcanically hot rectangular dish on the table in front of Patrick with undeniable pride in his eyes. It wasn’t the same lasagna as last time. But it was lasagna. This one featured vegetables instead of meat. Patrick certainly appreciated the passing glance at healthfulness, but he could also see the butter wrappers in the trash, so he was pretty sure those veggies were swimming in a bechamel sauce. Though it was made with love, it was also kind of...gluey? Goopy? 

He thanked heavens for the green salad David ~~dumped out of a bag~~ made to serve alongside the lasagna. Perhaps that would counteract some of the butter a bit? 

January rolled around, and as usual, it was cold and dark. One might even say perfect lasagna weather. (Patrick would _not_.) One of these evenings, he arrived home and greeted his ridiculously handsome husband with a kiss after a long day at the store. It was David’s day off, which meant he had a lot of free time, which generally translated into more elaborate meals. 

“Go look in the oven,” David instructed Patrick with more than a hint of excitement in his voice. Patrick really really _really_ hoped when he opened the door, he was going to see...well, he didn’t really care, as long as the cooking vessel wasn’t rectangular. 

It was. It was rectangular, and around the edges he could see cheese beginning to brown. Sigh. Maybe it was time to stop giving David days off work. 

+++

After the sixth lasagna (this time featuring butternut squash, which, yum) in as many months, Patrick decided it was time to come clean with his husband. He waited until after they'd finished dinner, which quite frankly, was delicious. He hoped his obvious appreciation of that evening's variation would smooth the conversation ahead of him.

David excitedly described in great detail every step of the process to make that evening's dish, which gave Patrick time to figure out what he was going to say.

“David, can I ask you something?” Patrick used his fork to scrape up some bits of melted cheese that were stuck to his plate. 

David nodded, unconcerned. “Of course.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I’m just curious, but why do you keep making lasagna?” He tilted his head to the side, to show David this was a very low-stakes question.

David looked confused, his brows furrowed. His face slid into an expression of worry. “Because you…love it?” 

Patrick could see the past few years flick by on David’s face as he searched his memory banks for why he felt compelled to make this particular dish for his husband. His face went on a journey and Patrick loved it.

It’s not like _Patrick_ knew what the answer was. He wrinkled his nose as he asked, “why do you think I love it? And I don't mean that sarcastically. I am genuinely curious. Have you ever seen me order it in a restaurant?” 

David closed his eyes, then opened them slowly as he shook his head. “No. You always get eggplant parmesan or spaghetti with meatballs when we get Italian.” 

“Did my mom tell you I like it?” Patrick felt sure this wasn’t it. 

David shook his head. “No, in fact, it was kind of weird, that when I asked your mom for her recipe, she said she never made lasagna because she can’t stand ricotta. And then I had to tell her all about the homemade ricotta I’d had at a restaurant in New Orleans and then we started talking about other restaurants, and we got so far off the subject I forgot I’d even asked her about it.”

“Yeah, my mom hates lasagna. She never made it growing up. Honestly, I don’t have strong feelings about it anymore. I just was trying to figure out why you keep making it.”

David shrugged. “I guess I just felt compelled to make it. Every time I went to make dinner, the only thing I could think to make was lasagna. I think I thought it would make you happy.”

“ _You_ make me happy, David.” 

David visibly melted a bit at the callback, then perked up. “Thank god, because I am sick of making lasagna. Fuck. It’s a lot of work. Dear god.”

Patrick laughed and slid his chair closer to David’s. “Aw, I really liked this one.”

David rolled his eyes as he emptied his wine glass. “Tough shit. You’re never getting this again.” The half-smile on his face belied the truth. 

Later that evening, as they were getting ready for bed, David stood in the bedroom and watched his husband brush his teeth. His mind was still whirring through the past few years. Why lasagna? Why? Why? Why? 

Suddenly, he gasped loudly enough for Patrick to spit out his toothpaste before whirling around. 

“David! What? You scared me!” He wiped his mouth on a hand towel.

David walked into the bathroom and put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “I just remembered something when I saw you brushing your teeth.” He crooned, “I’m a hungry hungry hippooooo” to Patrick, who only looked more confused. What on earth did a childhood board game have to do with lasagna?

David laughed, and pulled his husband into a hug. Patrick melted into him, still not understanding, but frankly, not really caring.

**Author's Note:**

> My love language is kudos and comments. (I am getting better at leaving them myself!)


End file.
